


A Bitter Spirit

by LittleVenusFLyTrap



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben Solo - Freeform, F/M, Fucking in the millennium falcon, Littered with alcohol references, Oral Sex, Pussy tasting like a vintage wine, Smuggler!Ben Solo, Strangers....or are they?, bartender!reader, he still calls her a slut though cause I have a reputation, rather tame for my kinky behaviour, smut the whole way through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleVenusFLyTrap/pseuds/LittleVenusFLyTrap
Summary: He smirks, fond of your taunting, “There’s only one thing that is taking my fancy” he blatantly looks you up and down, “Apparently, it’s quite a bitter spirit”“I believe bitter drinks….” Your eyes wander to his crotch, where his trousers seem to be getting tighter with every move you make, “…go down the best"
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Kylo Ren/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	A Bitter Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> This is my [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/littlevenusflytrap22)
> 
> So, I don't know how this happened, but in the course of writing Unadulterated I stopped to write this.

Your heart was used to pretty things and pretty people. They come and go like clockwork. Some come to the bar early in the morning and don’t leave till late at night. Others come for hook ups, to gamble or start a riot. Some come just for company. But, either way, pretty people come and go.

Which is why a dark tall, stranger shouldn’t make your mouth dry. Why his biceps straining against his shirt shouldn’t make you desperate to _touch._ Why his unfairly brown eyes shouldn’t make you wet. But they do and he does.

He sits alone. Others make comments as they pass by, patting him on the back with a friendly demeanour that doesn’t seem to sit well with the traveller. You catch a name, whispered along the tavern.

“Solo?” you say, unable to stop yourself.

He raises his eyes from the bar then, dragging them over you. You thank the maker that you wore something tight, that he could see your legs and the swell of your chest. He makes no flirtatious comment, but his eyebrow raises.

“What about it?”

“Nothing” you shrug, biting on your lip, “Just that, to some people, that name means something”

He shrugs, “Do I have to pay you to keep your mouth shut?”

You wipe up the spilled drinks around him. You almost think about wiping yourself down too, when you feel the slick wetness between your thighs.

You scoff, “Just keep buying drinks, smuggler”

“Keep serving them, bartender” he replies.

Gruff, brash, _dirty._ Those are all the words to describe him. He goes to sit with other fleeting wanderer and settles into a game of sabacc and you pout at the loss of his heat. You serve other patrons, and, when you look to the table, he seems to be racking up a hefty sum. 

_Smuggler, what card tricks are you playing?_ You think. And, like he could hear your thoughts, he raises his head and winks.

Alcohol flows freely and you start to think that it’s going to be an easy night. But it’s never an easy night

Something breaks out at the table, someone shouts and there’s a scuffle and you move to intervene. But, suddenly, _he’s_ there. He grabs the offender by his collar, lifting him half of the ground to growl in his face, spitting a ‘ _get the fuck out of here’_ before he throws — literally, throws — the guy towards the door. So hard that the door splinters.

_Oh,_ you think, _oh._

He wanders back to the bar. His short now open and exposing the sharp lines of his muscles. He holds his winnings in his hand, but his eyes are rattled, slightly mad and somewhat dangerous.

He slides the money across your bar. All of the money, every last credit.

“For your door and your time” he says, leaning on the bar and looking nothing less than suggestive.

You slide the money back towards him, “I’m a bartender. Not a prostitute”

“I said your time” he pushes it back, making sure to brush your hand, “not your cunt”

Your face flushes despite the frown you try to put on, the way he says ‘ _cunt’_ is not angry, or aggressive, it’s on a level of suggestion. As though he was thinking about it, is thinking about it, but won’t ask you for it, not yet.

“So, what will it be Solo?” you say, reaching underneath the bar for two bottles, “Bespin Breeze or Bloodsours?”

You brandish each bottle for him, making sure to wrap you hand tightly over the hilt.

He eyes you, moving his mop of hair out the way, “Whatever you want to give me” he smirks, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Apologies. ‘ _A sharp slap_ ‘ isn’t on the menu tonight” you sass.

“What about…” he runs his eyes over the menu board. Then he leans over, you mouths inches apart, “ _’A taste of your pussy’_ ’ is that available?”

His eyes light up with mirth. Entwinning you in some game that you’re not sure you can win.

“You can’t afford it” you reply. You hope your eyes don’t give you away, don’t show your greed and how much you want him. With the darkening of his eyes, you’re not sure your successful.

“ _’An hour inside of you’_?” he gives you a wiry grin,“I hear it’s a rare treat”

“No, but we do have a ‘ _you couldn’t last that long’_ and a ‘ _get fucked’_ , do any of those take your fancy?” you sass, pouring some unearthly green liquid into a shot glass, and, as Ben reaches for it, you down it. Licking your lips.

He smirks, fond of your taunting, “There’s only one thing that is taking my fancy” he blatantly looks you up and down, “Apparently, it’s quite a _bitter_ spirit”

“I believe bitter drinks….” Your eyes wander to his crotch, where his trousers seem to be getting tighter with every move you make, “…go down the best”

“Then, as a bartender, you should educate me”

You don’t know what possesses you — or maybe you do— but you wander around the bar, coming to stand before him like an offering.

“Or…” you brush you hand up his shirt, “…you could just have a taste”

An energy passes between the two of you, molten and strong and he smiles, “Yes, I think I will”

You are unsure how a flirty argument could end up with a Solos – Ben Solo’s, Smuggler and rumoured Jedi’s- tongue in your mouth, but it does, and it would again if you had anything to say about. It is not a sweet chaste thing. It is like a battle, a brutal dirty move of lips that has you grabbing for the lapels of his jacket, while hitches his hands on to your thighs. You must have a fever or an infectious disease, because you’re burning up with ever move of his hips.

It never usually felt like this. No one could tell you how powerful it felt to have a man’s stubble scrap along your chin, the teeth that sink along your bottom lip or the thick line of their tongue tangling with yours. Maybe it’s because they never felt _this._

It was a kiss that lacked grace, but so did you.

He parts with you and you try to follow his mouth, but he sooths you with a finger on your lips.

“Come with me”

What did it say about you that those words – from a scoundrel’s mouth – could make warm heat pool in your abdomen?

He leads. You follow.

Legs wobbly like a new-born deer and head slightly dazed with lust, especially when he takes you to _the_ ship. The Millennium Falcon.

You grin, giddy with adrenaline and need, “Don’t have a hotel?”

“I take mine with me”

He slaps your ass as you walk in and you can’t quell the way it makes your heart race. It skips half a beat when he pushes you in to the pilots chair, spinning it to face him.

“I bet your wet, aren’t you baby?”

“Don’t try to dirty talk me like one of your conquests” you point to the floor between your legs, “I’m sure your tongue has better uses”

You thank the maker for skirts and the Solo genetics when he grins that salacious smile.

“Yes Ma’am”

He falls to his knees, no decorum, no hesitation but all sex appeal. He parts your legs like he’s opening a particularly precious gift, soft hands and patience. Then he catches a glance of your pussy throbbing and soaking.

“No underwear?” he grunts, palming himself through his trousers, “Did you expect someone to fuck you tonight, you filthy thing?”

“Maybe” you spread your legs wider, “Are you going to? Or are you just going to look at it?”

“Maybe” he repeats, hooking your left leg over his shoulder, “but a real connoisseur samples the wine”

He licked feverish kisses into your calf, tracing his fingers close but never where you need them, just littering your body with appreciation, sucking marks all over your skin. The pleasure of having such a beautiful man between your thighs was not lost on you, and you groan when he suckles a deep bruise on your inner thigh, hair ruffled by your hands.

He was turning you into a shuddering mess, your hips trying to reach him despite his tight grip on your thighs.

“Ben” you sigh, leaning into the chair.

“Hush” he sinks his teeth into your thigh again, a warning, “You’re supposed to take little sips, not drink it all at once”

You deserved this, you deserved relief. And you deserved pretty people.

You grab his hair in your hands pulling him towards you. and, in the silent hull, you whisper a soft ‘ _please’._

Whatever patience he had was lost and you were lost with it as he brings his lips on to you. He was fast like the triggering of a bullet, lips sucking harshly on your clit and tongue working out to lick every part of you. He moved long and deeps, letting you moan and pull at his hair when something sends pleasure through your veins.

It was like he knew — a force trick, maybe? — how to work you best. How to find the rhythm that had you sweating at nape. The pads of his fingers are rough and grind perfectly on your clit while the soft, plush apex of his mouth runs over you folds with broad strokes. He has a wide tongue, perfect for hitting where you need it — over and over and over — until your eyes well with tears of pleasure.

Your hands sink into his hair and you feel him smile, holding your hands still as you try to bring him to your clit again.

“Bastard. Scoundrel.” You push his head towards your pussy, half anger, half desperation, “Give me what I want”

“You were such a tease before…can’t handle a little back?” he says, mouthing at your inner thigh, “Beg me”

“Fuck you”

He tuts, rubbing your clit with abstract fascination. “You won’t get to, if you don’t beg”

“ _Please_ ”

He runs the hard slant of his nose through your folds, just pushing against your bundle of nerves with a taunting rub. He catches your eyes from under his lashes and — dare you say it— you want to cum all over his pretty face until he can only taste you.

“More”

“Eat me out!” you borderline crying and his finger rubs over your clit painfully slow, just watching your pussy throb, “Just touch me, Ben!”

“More”

“I want to cum all over your fucking face” you dig your heels into his shoulder, feeling, rather than seeing, his pleasure at your demise, “I want to make you so dirty Ben, want your stubble to burn my thighs” he’s grinning now, it’s splitting his face and you flutter your eyes at him, “ _please”_

“Good girl”

He doesn’t give you time to think before he dives back in, his efforts doubled from your need. Licking at your slickness with broad strokes fingers just playing with your entrance before they circle back to your clit — obviously he’s saving that for later. Your body aches to pull away or pull him closer but then he puts his lips around your clit and _sucks._

Your legs latch around his head, eyes filled with the nights sky — or maybe it’s the dizzying feeling of pleasure rushing through you, you can’t tell — but you’re screaming and he’s groaning into you like he’s never tasted anything like it.

“Yes” he looks up at you, licking your release of his lips, “I like a dessert wine, it’s always so _sweet”_

“Stop with your metaphors and fuck me”

You get up, forcing him to follow and you lightly push him back into the seat. He’s hard, so thick and large that he must be chaffing in those trousers. You unzip him with speed, there was no time to waste now and you almost laugh at what you find.

“No underwear?” you mock, rubbing the bottom of his long cock with your palm.

“I was looking for a pretty bartender to fuck” he rubs your hand up your outer thighs, “Guess I walked into the right bar”

“Aren’t you lucky” you say, sitting down on to his lap.

He lifts up your top, his hands shaking with the need to see you. “Very”

He gets your top of but doesn’t bother removing your bra, just gets it high enough to get a palmful of your tits. He pinches, rolls and grabs on to your nipples like a man who may never touch anything so perfect again, and, you realise what this is going to be — a filthy, dirty, fuck. He pushes his head into the middle of your sternum, alternating between licking and kissing the edge of your tits.

It was like star light, your eyes wanted to roll back but you grab his cock, hearing him hiss through your teeth, and rub it along your wet folds.

Your body is throbbing with an emptiness you can’t sedate. A deep seated wanting to have his dick so far In you that you feel in in your throat.

“Fuck me” you groan, putting his dick next to you entrance.

“With pleasure” he sounds restrained, but you feel the shaky breaths on your neck, the way he wanted you too.

He lifts his hips to push into you slow, testing the waters. Too slow, _painstakingly_ slow, holding your hips where they sit, and you, you lose all patience, sinking down onto him so fast, he flings his head back into the seat with a dull ‘ _thud’_ and you exhale shakily.

His cock is huge. Thick, long and filling you completely.

And _maker_ , were you full.

His hands bruise your hips with practiced restraint. But the sweat on his brow, the slight tremor of his hands showing you just how much he wants it, how much he wants to fuck up into your heat like a man unrestrained.

_Filthy animal_ , you thought.

“Oh fuck!” you grind your hips in a small circle, just getting the feeling for him, but it drags along your walls, hitting every spot with ease, “Fuck— Ben”

The rogue grins, leaning up to put his head in the crux of your neck, just watching your wet pussy suck him in. A dirty voyeur to your pleasure.

“You like my cock, baby?” he groans, “Dirty slut”

You did, your head nodding as you chase your pleasure on his cock. Your hips move on their own, the rhythm automatic and Bens hip chase every movement.

He grunts loudly. “Fuck—tell me how much you like it”

His hand tightens on to your throat, the metal band of a ring digging painfully into your neck. He was eager, rolling his hips into you, biting into his lip so he doesn’t go too hard, too soon. “ _Say it”_

“I love it!” you scream, “Ruin my pussy, fill it with your cum—oh— fuck me, Ben”

He stills his hips and you see the lock of his jaw. He was holding back.

“Don’t!” you whine, feeling his balls slap against you, “Don’t hold back, please—” he grips your throat harder “—fuck me harder, Ben!”

He does.

He throws you back on the console — nothing starts moving, so you figure it’s fine — and his pace becomes relentless. Caught between drawing it out and _ruining_ you. Its slick and wet, the heat of your cunt burning like a furnace and his cock pistons between the two of you. He’s primal, an animal, digging his teeth into your neck and he fucks you hard, until all you can hear is the lewd, wet sounds your bodies make.

He moves to watch you — the flush crawling further up your neck just from how _dirty_ it was — and holds your throat while he brings his other hand to rub your clit.

“Fuck. Cum for me, baby” his voice is hot, borderline desperate, “I know you can. Get my cock all nice and wet”

And you do. Back arching against the console, straining against hide palm. And he watches your undoing, watches your pussy clench around him, drowning his cock in your wetness until it slips with ease between you. He watches you mouth go slack — red and raw from biting — and he fills you. Fucks his cum right into you, groaning into the night sky and you think it’s the most beautiful thing you ever scene.

You both rack through your pleasure, until your nothing but sweaty, sticky bodies. And he grabs you —dick softening inside you— to sit back in his lap in the chair.

Pressing kisses to his forehead, you wipe the hair out of his face, now damp with sweat.

“Han will kill us if we get cum stains on the chair” you say, humming against him.

Ben groans, “Please don’t talk about my father while my dicks still inside you”

“He is a handsome man” you mock, and he pinches your ass.

“Did you enjoy playing bartender?”

I did—” you smile, using a Jedi mind trick to make the owners schedule you for a shift —all for a sexual fantasy— was hasty, reckless and perfect, “—until You broke character”

“When?” he scoffs.

You lift up his hand. The one wearing a wedding ring. The wedding ring that matches yours.

“You didn’t take it off” you say, kissing his fingers.

I couldn’t—”

You look at him in shock, “Why? is it too tight?”

He whines in the back of his throat, “No. I just… _couldn’t”_

_“oh”_ you say, as he turns up to look at you like there was no greater sight in the entire universe _,_ “I see”

And you did.


End file.
